I first met her…I’m not quite sure when we met. Dreams always were a funny thing. I could have seen her before we knew each other, only background characters in each other’s stories until they converged one night some years ago.
After we met, she appeared in most of my dreams. Often she’d either casually stroll over or sit down next to me and talk to me with the warmest expression I’d ever seen. Senses dulled by dream’s haze I sometimes wouldn’t even notice her until she was right next to me and sometimes I’d be across the room in an instant, completely skipping the slow walk and talk yet retaining the temporary memory of it. She’d kiss me goodbye before I returned to the waking world.
That she appeared nearly ever night was the first sign. That I remembered her was the second. It’s strange how on even my liveliest of days I’d look forward to the depths of sleep. I might add something more to the second point – I did not remember her as something half-remembered or lost in my morning routine. I remembered a person. (I wasn’t sure of her true nature but I doubt anything good would have come of questioning that. She’d tell me who she was when it was time.) It was always amusing how sudden shifts in the dream would mildly startle her, which is not to say that she had no control over it.
To me, she was why I went to sleep at night and got up in the morning. My coworkers would always notice the spring in my step but only I knew why.
They always said the eyes were the windows to the soul. Even half-covered by light brown hair, those I saw were a stormy grey and the more I saw them, the more I wanted to know even as I saw the both of us age.
When I’m gone I know that I’ll be with her for real.